The human mind, what a wicked creation,
It haunts me with fearsome fantasies,
With broken and ghastly shards, called memories,
And alas, I cannot run from my own reflection.
The human mind, what a wicked creature,
How it picks and chooses things to remember.
I recall the worst—the forgotten birthday,
Yet forget the best—the surprise bouquet.
And suddenly you, who I once loved so dearly,
Live on, only as the monster I see all too clearly.
A worse companion, the human hand,
It has the power to heal with only a touch,
But the same skin can destroy just as much.
I should know, mine has done both at your command.
The human hand, cursed extension,
Caulossed skin conceals a recollection,
Of the shape of your face, the feel of you,
The tender comfort that got me through,
The worst of nights, the horrors of life,
Yet the same scars recall your cutting knife.
If the mind could forget…
If the hand could un-touch…
but memories cling tight,
An inescapable plight.
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Lou.Summers 